


I Want The One I Can't Have

by MoonySmith



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Everyone Wants Greg, F/M, M/M, Not Happy, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, but there's a kiss, it's just that to be honest, not exactly sad either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 13:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonySmith/pseuds/MoonySmith
Summary: A follow-up to the characters and their unrequited love, where everyone likes Greg and he doesn't notice.





	I Want The One I Can't Have

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a headcanon I saw once, which says that "Greg Lestrade is like the Jack Harkness of Sherlock, only in reverse. Everyone wants to sleep with him and he's oblivious."
> 
> It actually took me a few years to finish it, and I published here last year in Spanish, but I finally took the time to translating it!  
And if you see any grammar mistake, please let me know"

_I want the one I can't have_

_And it's driving me mad_

_It's all over, all olver, all over my face_

_(The Smiths)_

* * *

**I**

The first time Sherlock Holmes' eyes crossed with the brown ones of the Detective Inspector Lestrade had been during a hot summer afternoon. Sherlock was never too proud to remember that first meeting since it was the time when he could barely stay sober for more than two days in a row, a result of the drugs he used to take to soothe his stressed brain. It had also been the main reason why he had found himself in that situation by going to investigate for himself the case he had seen on the internet that same afternoon at the warehouse where he was hiding from his brother. A woman had been found dead by hypothermia in a sauna.  _ Stupid _ , Sherlock thought. It was quite a simple and boring case, but he knew that the brains in New Scotland Yard weren’t the most efficient when it came to simple jobs, mostly because they believed themselves to be superior to others and thought they were capable of finding things that others couldn’t see and did their own work much more complicated than it really was.

Either way, it wasn’t difficult, not even in his own state, to find a way to sneak into the crime scene and, basically, to shout in everyone's face what a bunch of idiots they were, as well as to add a rude deduction from whoever dared to answer him. Until the DI in charge appeared, for a moment Sherlock was speechless, having to swallow with force the curses that had appeared in his head, because the man in front with his arms folded over his chest and an eyebrow raised in his direction, was staring at him. Sherlock couldn't help tilting his head to one side, trying to observe the other man more clearly.  _ Everything was perfect in him _ , Sherlock thought, everything was fine with him.

“And who the hell are you?” asked the man. And  _ oh, God _ , that voice. Sherlock didn't think he'd heard anything sexier in his whole life. The deepest and the most masculine voice he’s ever heard.

Sherlock blinked a couple of times at him, his brain had split in two, and was trying to fight between answering his simple question, or just throwing himself straight to his lips.

“Sh-Sherlock Holmes,” he finally succeeded in articulating. But the expression on the other's face didn't change.

The DI gave him a quick head-to-toe look and rolled his eyes in frustration.

“Donovan was right," he muttered grumbling and quickly uncrossing his arms. “You're high.”

With the same speed, the man took a couple of steps to approach him and grabbed his arm sharply.

“I…” Sherlock tried to start talking, but suddenly all he could think of was the hand holding his arm and how he was guided to the door of the place to leave.

“It's time for you to go,  _ son _ ," said the authoritarian voice beside him.

Sherlock felt as if the word "son" had been a bucket of cold water they had dropped on his head and had awakened him from the strange dream he had unconsciously entered.

“N-no," he began to speak slowly, "you're wrong.”

“You’re telling me you're _ not _ high, then?” Sherlock heard a couple of laughs, remembering for the first time that they weren’t alone in that place.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, pausing to explain himself better in front of the DI.

“The woman.” He stared at him, ignoring the complaints of others. “It is obvious even to an ape that she didn’t die here; her body was brought  _ post mortem _ .”

The man looked at him more intently now, his frown furrowed, but Sherlock knew he was intrigued by what he had just said.

“Lestrade," said a woman behind them, "are you actually going to trust the word of a drug addict?”

_ Lestrade _ , Sherlock repeated in his head and couldn’t help the smile that had formed on his lips for only a few seconds...

The DI Lestrade didn’t reply to the other woman but shook his head softly.

“Look, I don't know how you got in here in the first place, but…” Sherlock interrupted him with a snort, “You can't just come in here in that state and yell at my whole team, boy. Get out of here.”

Sherlock brusquely removed the hand holding him and looked at the DI with a frown.

“I'm telling the truth," he warned bitterly. “I've just saved you hours of extra work, or as long as it takes to find a more complicated solution.”

“ _ Please _ ,” said the woman who had spoken before and quickly approached them.

Lestrade gave her a quick glance over his shoulder before looking back at Sherlock even with a frown, bit his lower lip before speaking, “I'm sorry." He shook his head, "You can't just show up like this again in here. Now, go away.”

Sherlock looked at him furiously once more before turning on his own heels and disappearing from the sauna.

_ And for a moment I thought it was worth getting close to him _ , he thought as he slowly walked back to his hiding place. In spite of everything, there was something about the case that wouldn’t let his mind get away from it.  _ The case? _ asked a voice inside his mind and Sherlock had to shake his head to try to push away the first image he had got of DI Lestrade.

He was just an idiot like everyone else Sherlock had tried to  _ help _ before. Although that wasn’t true, he thought deep down, there was something else about that man; Sherlock could see in his last glance that he himself was sceptical of his own words.

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheeks as he walked and searched between the pockets of his pants for a cigarette and a lighter. It wouldn't be until tomorrow that he could get a little more cocaine for his satisfaction, so a little nicotine wouldn't be too bad to help him with his brain.

\- -

The next time Sherlock met the dark and deep gaze of DI Lestrade was a complete surprise. He was in the abandoned warehouse where he used to hide when he needed the assistance of drugs inside his body. He was lying on the mattress on the floor, which he had taken over several months ago; his eyes closed as he enjoyed the tranquillity within his own brain. He knew it wouldn't be long before the glorious effect of his last dose ended and he returned to the boring routine of his life near his older brother, but being able to enjoy that last moment was all he could hold on to for now.

“Let me through.” He heard  _ that _ voice over the yelling of several men he hadn’t noticed before.  _ That voice _ . “I'm just looking for someone. If you cooperate, I won't have to take any of you with me.”

_ Lestrade. _

The rest of the voices were silent and Sherlock heard the pair of feet approaching his side.

“Enjoying the good life?” he asked, and Sherlock smiled, without opening his eyes, "You were right.”

Sherlock remained in the same position, but continued to smile as he said, “Obviously.”

Lestrade didn't say anything for a moment until he cleared his throat.

“So... how did you do it?”

Sherlock opened his eyes in one fell swoop, frowning as he watched the other man, who looked at him with curiosity in his gaze and his arms crossed over his chest again.

“You don't think it was me?” said Sherlock instead.

“Should I?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No," Sherlock muttered in reply, sitting on the old mattress. “What are you doing here then? How did you find me?”

Suddenly, Lestrade's serious look faded and Sherlock saw a new expression appear in those warm eyes. Lestrade cleared his throat again before daring to take a seat at the feet of the mattress. “This isn't exactly a very secret place, you know?” He shrugged one shoulder, playing with the fold of his jacket. Sherlock looked down and couldn’t help the sharp, unexplained pain he felt in his chest when he saw a shiny golden ring on the DI finger. “It's not every day that someone comes to interrupt a crime scene investigation with their own deductions and ends up being right.”

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," said Sherlock, noting the sudden smile on the other's lips. He brought his legs closer to his body to embrace them.

It was a bad time to begin to be fully aware of how the effect of the last dose was beginning to disappear altogether; he would need more soon.

He groaned in pain.

“Are you all right?” asked Lestrade, sounding really worried.

“Of course," he lied, listening to his own voice sound raspier than normal. “I repeat, why are you here, Detective?”

Lestrade wasn’t entirely convinced by Sherlock's answer but seemed to accept it.

“I've never seen anyone deduce the way you did in front of my team," he muttered and Sherlock frowned, but Lestrade smiled. “You’re something else, Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock shuddered slightly at the sound of his name in that voice. Lestrade paused before he spoke again, “I had to take you out of the scene, it wasn't because of your interruption, I would have let you continue anyway, you seemed to know what you were talking about and you were well dressed, I know I shouldn't judge only by the image, but well, that helped you... The thing is... you were high, kid. I can't allow anyone in that state to approach an official investigation.” Lestrade took another moment before continuing, “You seem to be a very smart and clever person, why do you... do this?”

Sherlock lifted his chin a little, looking at the other man very carefully. Then he shook his head.

“You wouldn't understand." He shrugged.

“Explain it to me then," answered Lestrade defiantly.

Sherlock bit his lip insecure. At that moment, he would only have liked the other man to go away and leave him alone, but something about his appearance seemed to give him a little more confidence.

He hugged his legs a little harder, moving completely away from the DI, and began to explain quickly what was going on with his brain and why the drugs were helping him to calm down.

“What about logic games?” asked Lestrade innocently once Sherlock had finished speaking and stared at his feet., “Puzzles and things like that, don't they help you?”

“Many years ago they became simply childish," he replied, his voice was barely a whisper.

Both men remained completely silent for a moment longer, until Lestrade spoke again, “I’ve got you a deal.”

\- -

Sherlock had been helping Lestrade’s team for years. Some of them, for the most part, hated him, but he couldn't care less: he had the opportunity to keep his mind busy in real cases; he had quit drugs and could be close to the attractive DI. Sherlock had accepted that whatever that was happening with Lestrade was nothing more than platonic. Romantic relationships weren’t in Sherlock's operating manual, not when he himself liked to describe his brain as a computer.  _ That was best _ , he thought, lying to himself.

Even as the years continued to pass, Sherlock never approached Lestrade in any other way, not even as a friend. He liked to reassure himself that he didn’t need that. He wasn’t like the others, a friend was totally unnecessary in his life, more now that he could access cases from the same NSY. But he couldn't deny that Lestrade was the closest thing to a friend he had had in a long time, after all, it was he who helped him get away from drugs and get back to living his normal life.

_ Normal _ , or so he believed until John Watson came along.

Sherlock will never know for sure if the sudden approach by the DI was a product of his new  _ friendship _ with the doctor or what, but something inside him thanked it.

_ Cases to solve, and Friendship _ , was what Sherlock had got by starting to associate with John.

\- -

Unfortunately for him, despite all the time he spent helping Lestrade, Sherlock had never managed to overcome those deep feelings he felt when he saw or thought of him and mentally cursed himself every time he was interrupted by them at work.

It had never crossed his mind to try anything else with him, he had always assured himself that it was ridiculous, plus Lestrade was married to a woman - who cheated on him, Sherlock remembered himself that he wasn’t capable of keeping a relationship with someone, that just couldn't happen. Not now, not ever. He tried to remind him that very well when Lestrade got divorced. If it weren't for how busy the consulting detective had been, he sometimes feared what he might have done... Risk confessing his secret in front of him, maybe.

Just days after finishing the famous case of The Reichenbach painting, Sherlock was working on a personal experiment in Bart's lab, accompanied by Molly Hooper, who kept making banal comments about life that Sherlock couldn't care less about.

He had been staring at the microscope when he heard a small knock on the door. He didn’t look up but heard Molly's soft sound of surprise for the newcomer.

“Greg?” exclaimed the young woman, laughing shyly as Sherlock listened to the other man enter. He kept his gaze fixed on his place, even though his attention was no longer precisely on what he had been analyzing. “Did something happen?”

“Good afternoon, Molly," he said, adding quickly, "Nothing. I had just finished a procedure and I thought... Oh, hi, Sherlock. I didn't see you there.”

Sherlock completely froze, something to which he was already accustomed to, of course, when the DI noticed his presence Sherlock felt that everyone around him stood next to him. But this time he didn't say anything, he just swallowed hard and continued with his eyes in front of the device, acting as if he hadn't noticed anything.

Eventually, Lestrade and Molly returned to their thing, talking about something Sherlock hadn't paid attention to. By the time Sherlock dared to look up lightly, he found a scene that surprised him: Lestrade looked at Molly in a way Sherlock had never seen in him before, the smile on his lips wasn’t like any he had ever offered him. His entire body expression was something new in the mental data Sherlock kept hidden in his brain. Then he realized...

Lestrade had fallen in love with Molly.

Sherlock froze again, this time with his gaze fixed on the other man, the one who now obviously only had eyes for the woman in front of him. Sherlock swallowed hard again the small lump that he felt forming in his throat and looked down once more at what he was working on in the first place. But no matter how hard he tried, his concentration couldn't go back to that, not now. Not only did he know that he and Lestrade could never be in a relationship of any kind, but now he would have to face the idea of seeing him with that  _ stupid _ expression on his face every time he saw Molly. Sherlock stood abruptly, ignoring the others, took his things and quickly left the laboratory without saying a word to them.

He walked fast. He needed to get back to Baker Street and lock himself in his room as soon as possible. Maybe look up a case on his own blog or forum. Anything that could help him not to think of his new and unfortunate discovery would do him good.

_ Platonic _ , had shouted his inner voice once he was safe in his room. He believed that his feelings towards DI were nothing more than a platonic affair, and it was better if he kept believing it that way, now that he knew he would never look at him. He took a long breath, closed his eyes and focused on whatever he thought was more important than that, finally taking out off his head the image of Lestrade smiling at his friend.

That was better. Sherlock didn't need those feelings. He was all over it. None of that was of any use in his life so it was better to forget them.

Or at least he tried.

\- -

**II**

Mycroft Holmes first saw Detective Inspector Lestrade through one of the CCTV cameras outside the apartment where his younger brother lived.

It had been surprising to him, Sherlock had never shown any sign of having any new friends, let alone, which in Mycroft's eyes was quite obvious, a policeman. At first, he hesitated, of course, a policeman approaching Sherlock’s flat? Mycroft had readjusted himself in his seat ready to help Sherlock as always if he needed to get rid of the law, but when he saw that the policeman was entering the building without any problem, Mycroft was surprised and decided to active the hidden camera that kept within the same department of Sherlock, for emergencies. It was true, Mycroft had never needed it in this new apartment because it’s been only a few months since the miracle happened: Sherlock had finally given up drugs and had agreed to move to where Mycroft had offered him months ago.

He repositioned himself back on his seat, taking the headphones and mentally preparing for whatever he could find on the screen as he waited for the man to climb the stairs.

When the small living room of the apartment appeared on the screen, Mycroft could see Sherlock sitting on the sofa with his eyes fixed on his computer over his legs, and couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He still feared every day that Sherlock would consume again.

The expression on Sherlock's face didn't change when there was a knock on the door and just announced that it was open.

The policeman entered quickly and Mycroft had a better view of him for the first time. He frowned and unconsciously joined the tip of his fingers under his chin, watching him more closely, ignoring what he and his brother were talking about. He couldn't look at anything else, he would never admit it to anyone, but it was true. The man had been smiling ever since he had walked through that door and it seemed unique to Mycroft. From his dark hair, plus the combination of many greys strands, and that well-tanned skin where his bright smile highlighted more easily. Mycroft had to clear his throat to remind himself why he was looking at his brother's apartment in the first place.

The policeman took a seat next to Sherlock and offered him a folder, while he continued to observe the rest of the place. It was obvious that this was his first visit there.

Mycroft tried to keep his eyes focused on Sherlock and his ears listening to what they were talking about. They were silent as Sherlock eyed through the folder.

“Oh,” he let out after a while, where Mycroft took the opportunity to observe the other man a little better.

“What is it?” he asked, and Mycroft felt that voice repeating itself inside his head over and over again.

“You were right, Lestrade," Sherlock replied in a boring tone, returned the folder to  _ Lestrade _ and took his laptop again. “You should be proud.”

Mycroft saw Lestrade roll his eyes as he stood up.

“Thank you… I guess” Standing in front of Sherlock, Lestrade readjusted the documents inside the folder and stared at Sherlock for a few seconds before asking, "Have you been... Well?”

Sherlock looked up from the device and raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“I haven't been using anything," Sherlock replied defensively.

“I-I didn't mean that. I…”

Sherlock interrupted him with a snort and continued to observe him closely.

“Don't you have a romantic dinner with your wife today, Lestrade?” he said coldly, returning to his work.  _ Wife _ , repeated Mycroft in his head; he would never be able to see the ring on the policeman's finger from that distance on the computer. He cursed himself mentally. Well, it wasn't like he thought he'd have a chance with that man. Which wasn't an option either, not in his lifetime.

\- -

During his daily monitoring of Sherlock, he had become accustomed to seeing the figure of Lestrade. Mycroft had investigated him, of course. The same afternoon he first saw him outside Sherlock's building, Mycroft read as much of the  _ DI _ as he could and hadn’t been able to avoid paying special attention to everything to do with his private life.

It had been a couple of weeks before he thought it was time to make a friendly visit to the Detective.

The car parked in front of Lestrade's own car in the parking lot and Mycroft waited for him to arrive to lower the window of the car and make its introduction.

“It would be better if you just get in, Detective Inspector," said Mycroft, keeping a cynical smile on his lips. "We would avoid what might be called... Mistreatment." Mycroft ended up lifting up the window again and leaving the door open, moving to the other end of the seat, knowing very well that the other man would get into the car.

Mycroft had booked a table at one of his favourite restaurants - it wasn't a date or anything like that, of course not. Mycroft had researched the other man enough to know that it was he who should be thanked for getting Sherlock back on his feet, without forcing him into a rehab centre. This was his way of thanking him.  _ Nothin else _ , he repeated in his head.

“As you can see, Inspector," Mycroft began to say once they were seated face to face at the most exclusive table in the place, "we are in a public place. I wouldn't risk harming you in any way.”

The expression on Lestrade's face didn't change at all, so Mycroft knew he still didn’t believe him.

“And who are you,” was the first thing he asked.

Mycroft smiled before answering. He enjoyed those moments when the other person thought he was a serial killer or something. That always gave him more time to get to know who he was dealing with.

“I've already told you I won't hurt you, Inspector," he said softly. He lifted one hand and as he snapped his fingers, a waiter quickly approached them. “Now, you can choose what you want for dinner. Don't limit yourself, please.”

But Lestrade hadn’t moved, he had not even raised his eyes to look at the young waiter standing beside them.

“How do you know me?” he asked instead.

Mycroft made a dismissive gesture towards the waiter and he moved away quickly. He settled upright in his seat and extended his hand, rolling his eyes in one quick movement.

“Mycroft Holmes,” he introduced himself quietly, adding, “Sherlock is my brother.”

“Oh," said the DI before he stretched out his hand to shake the one that was offered. “Greg Lestrade.”

“I know," said Mycroft, waiting for the other man to break the contact, but he seemed so astonished at the surprise of hearing his surname that it was Mycroft who had to put his hand away.

“W-why...? Lestrade tried to ask, but he couldn't find the words to go on.

“I've been keeping an eye on Sherlock for the past few months," said Mycroft casually, raising his hand again to call the waiter. “This is my way of thanking you for what you've done for him, Detective Inspector. Now, as I told you before, you can order whatever you want.”

\- -

After that first dinner, it had become common for Mycroft to observe Greg a little more through the CCTV cameras. It wasn't intentional, or that’s what he liked to assure himself. He would begin seeing how Sherlock was and suddenly he would end up observing how things were in NSY, just by chance He did it at times when Lestrade left the building. If Mycroft wasn't too busy, there were times when he would simply follow his path between camera and camera.

The Detective had been one of the nicest people Mycroft had ever met, and it was no wonder he had met quite a few throughout his life. But among all the special things he could find in the other man, Mycroft couldn't deny that he enjoyed seeing how someone else cared about his younger brother.

It had become a tradition for the eldest of the Holmes, to go in search of the DI every few weeks, with the excuse of discussing Sherlock's safety. Every time the car appeared in front of Greg's sight, Mycroft enjoyed watching the man roll his eyes and his body seemed to tighten over his shoulders, yet still walking toward him.

After a while, Mycroft noticed how Greg's trust had changed and soon the expressions of annoyance and exhaustion each time the car arrived, had vanished. When they were going to dinner, Greg really seemed to enjoy Mycroft's company and of course, he did it himself. Despite that, Mycroft would never admit that  _ he had feelings _ for the DI.  _ Feelings _ was not a word that was assimilated with Mycroft Holmes in any way. And it was better if it was still considered that like that.

What happened to Detective Inspector was something different; something that Mycroft could never understand. He liked to know what Greg was doing in his spare time; he enjoyed a casual chat when they finished dinner or before saying goodbye in the car. Every interaction he managed to get with him felt like a prize, something Mycroft never thought of experiencing... It was what he liked to think, of course, everything that happened with Greg was an experiment. Mycroft had no feelings for him, he wasn't attracted to him either, it wasn't anything like that that happened when he thought of Greg Lestrade.

An experiment that would continue for years. Because by not having feelings for the other man, Mycroft would never have to confess the feelings he didn't have towards him... Denying everything was always simpler and he ended up letting it consume much of his brain, his mind, his thoughts, questioning every day he went out with him if there was any chance.

All those thoughts he kept deep in his head only grew once he knew that Greg and his wife had divorced.

If he considered the elements, it wasn't an entirely improbable situation; Greg and he had come very close over the years. Greg was able to joke in front of Mycroft and not look shocked once the redhead laughed naturally and not his typical fake smile if Mycroft wanted it -which he didn't- he could end up getting a little closer to Greg and confessing to him...  _ something _ .

But time passed, Mycroft would never be willing to make such a mistake. As he kept repeating, relationships had never been something to him.

\- -

Mycroft had finally had an afternoon off in weeks, so he had rewarded himself with a small feast in his office, forgetting for at least one day his strict diet. This had become a tradition that he would never be able to admit to anyone, nor would he admit that followed by his feast, he sat at his desk to observe his Inspector friend.

On this occasion, if he were found by someone else - though he shouldn't - his excuse would be that he had noticed that his younger brother had already spent too much time locked up at Bart's, so Mycroft had been worried and thought he might be on to something else. It was a coincidence that Lestrade had just left the building.

The only difference was that this time the DI wasn’t alone, but beside him was walking the young woman, Hooper, a constant companion in the surveillance he was doing on Sherlock.

Mycroft adjusted a little better on his seat, gently grabbing a slice of chocolate cake, trying not to smudge anything on his expensive suit.

He watched carefully as Lestrade kept smiling every time he looked at his companion as he walked beside him. Mycroft continued to follow the pair through the cameras that continued on the same avenue. He had to confess that this was the first time he saw this expression on his friend's face, something completely new to him. He frowned as he took a moment to better consider what he was observing.

He cleared his throat when he saw that the others had disappeared from the camera he was transmitting at the time, and before he chose to continue with his follow-up, he decided to forget it for now.

Mycroft put the cake back in place and leaned back in his seat, gazing at nothingness for a moment.

_ Everything was fine _ , he thought. That was going to happen sooner or later... Although Mycroft had always hoped it would be later. It was the kind of thing that would happen if you never confessed your feelings to the one you were interested in.

Although in this case, it wasn't, of course.

Mycroft shook his head and called Anthea to bring him the last papers he had to sign to advance his work on his day off.

\- -

**III**

John Watson unconsciously had paid a little more attention to Lestrade than it was necessary, especially being another man. The doctor had always considered himself heterosexual, but when he saw the Inspector in front of him, something had definitely changed. Or maybe it was only him. He'd never know how to explain it. But something about his hair, his eyes or maybe his smile, made John want to spend the rest of the day looking at him and forget what he really went to do with Sherlock at Lestrade office in the first place.

It wasn't a crush, John was sure. He couldn't imagine him and another man in a romantic relationship, that would never work. What he wasn't quite sure about was what happened to him and his body every time he was near the older as if his legs suddenly stopped working and his brain froze completely, too. His only thought was what it would feel like to kiss those thin lips.

After a while, John stopped questioning what was going on and decided to forget the matter. John Watson wasn't gay, nor was he bisexual. That was the simple answer.

But it was really a surprise, even to him, when he found himself inviting Lestrade for a drink one night after helping him in a case with Sherlock. It didn't take long after that first night when it was common for them to go out together to some pub, where they could also use the time to watch some game that was on the screen and let the stressful days leave their bodies.

John had to admit that having at least one night away from Sherlock was a relief. But then he also had to accept that there was something that the consulting detective had mentioned that day and kept ringing inside his head, it was about Inspector Lestrade never noticing too obvious details happening around him. Sherlock had mentioned it after the victim's wife had been looking at him more than should be appropriate, adding a clear expression of desire on her face. Not an acceptable behaviour after your husband's death, but John had noticed her as well, and now he had to accept that Sherlock was probably right because Greg kept working normally in front of her. There was also the possibility that the other simply wasn't interested in her, John thought.

The doctor kept thinking about it as he waited for Greg to come back with the first round he had offered to pay that night, followed him with his gaze ever since he left their table and noticed that the girl at the bar had clearly been grinning more than necessary and waiting for the Inspector to notice her and take the next step, but Greg just gave her a nod, left the money over the bar table and took their glasses returning to the table with John. He chose not to say anything right now.

In fact, John let the matter go through that night until it occurred to him to carry out himself a small experiment to reaffirm Sherlock's theory.

Only a few weeks later, John and Greg had decided to change the usual place of their meetings for the same flat of Sherlock and John, since the sky seemed to threaten to fall on them with the heavy rains in the city. They could have suspended it for another night but the truth was that they all had spent the last few exhausting days solving a case with Lestrade and really felt like they needed a break. In addition, Sherlock hadn't slept for at least four days in a row and had announced that he would take the rest of the night to finally sleep, leaving the other two men completely free to do whatever they wanted in the living room as long as they didn't disturb him.

Greg and John had made a stop before returning to Baker Street in a liquor store to get enough of what they needed for their night of well-deserved recreation. Of course, they didn't want to get completely pissed and forget anything they'd do, but only needed a couple of encouragements to relieve the stress.

After a few drinks, a lot of laughing and weird stories, John couldn't help but bring to light what he had been experimenting over the past few weeks.

"I need to tell you something," he said to Greg when the two of them had just left their glasses over the coffee table and settled side by side on the sofa, he was about to begin to laugh again but paused.

"What is it?" the other asked, arching an eyebrow curiously.

"You…" John started to talk but stopped himself to lick his lips as he was still staring at him. "You never know when someone is flirting with you."

Lestrade now raised both eyebrows and leaned back a bit.

"What? That's not true." The Inspector shook his head slightly.

"It is."

"When...? Who flirted with me?" Greg asked in disbelief.

And that's when John rolled his eyes amused.

"Are you kidding me?" John punched him softly on the arm but Greg still had the same expression of curiosity. Which indicated he wasn't lying. "Greg! Just a couple of hours ago the boy in the store flirted with you shamelessly."

But Lestrade grimaced, and something on his face turned John's stomach upside down.

"He didn't…"

"He did. And you didn't even notice."

John saw Greg's lips pursed into a thin line.

"According to you... who else has flirted with me?" he asked him seriously.

John laughed.

"To begin with, every night we go to the pub, the girl at the bar always dies for you to pay her a little more attention every time you go for a round."

"She doesn't…"

" _ Greg… _ "

"She's just being friendly…"

"Please, Greg."

"All right, who else?"

Lestrade's question resonated inside John's head longer than it should, asking himself if this was the best time to admit his experiment. Even though they were comfortable enough, they weren't exactly drunk.

He could give him more examples, but decided not to when he cleared his throat and offered him a smile.

"I've been flirting with you the last few nights we've been out and you haven't mentioned it once, which means you never noticed it."

Greg opened his eyes wide and John could see that he had clearly blushed, suddenly feeling very proud of himself.

"Why...? Why would you do that?" Greg managed to ask, and John could hardly contain his satisfaction as he saw the other man embarrassed. Something a little more tender than John intended would turn out to be his confession after all.

"At first it was just a silly experiment I wanted to do after Sherlock told me about your lack of observation but…" John took a moment to look at him, Greg continued with an expression of clear confusion and it wasn't long until John began to feel his heart beat faster. This was the moment, he suddenly thought. "I-I don't actually know…"

John bit his lower lip, feeling an unexpected adrenaline rush on his body. He leaned forward slightly, and exchanging the focus of his gaze between Greg's eyes and his lips, he let one of his hands rest on the other man's thigh. Lestrade lowered his gaze to that place and back to his eyes. John smiled.

"Can I...?"

In response, Lestrade was the one who first brought his face closer so that he could press their lips together. John felt that the air had just escaped from his lungs but mentally kicked himself to calm down and get on with the movement. Greg's lips were softer than John had imagined, and when the Inspector opened them to let their tongues participate, John could do nothing but let out a groan. That felt good, he couldn't help thinking about. He felt confident enough to slowly begin to raise the hand still on the other man's leg with the intention of reaching the crotch, but a sudden noise coming from the kitchen interrupted them, causing them both to break the kiss and turn their heads to see the origin of it.

Under the dim light of the kitchen, a Sherlock Holmes was clearly frozen standing with a cup in his hands. John quickly removed his own hand from its place, feeling that what he was doing was wrong.

Sherlock blinked a couple of times in their direction and turned to lock himself back in his room silently. John swallowed hard, passing the lump he felt in his throat.

"That was weird," commented Greg a moment after they heard the door close.

"I wonder what would he think…" John said before turning back to his side with the intention of continuing the activity in which they were before they were abruptly interrupted.

But then Greg raised a hand to put it on John's chest and stop him, shaking his head gently.

"I don't think this is a good idea... do you?"

John looked at him in complete surprise, suffering the unexpected rejection by one of the most beautiful men he had ever met.

He nodded and placed both hands on his lap, straightening his back.

"Yes, of course, you're right. It's all right," he said.

Lestrade cleared his throat and stood up to fill them another glass.

Luckily for both of them, it wasn't long before they felt comfortable with each other again, almost completely forgetting what had just happened. By the time they decided to call it the night, Greg continued with the intention of leaving.

"Of course I can't let you go like this," John said. "It's pouring outside and I wouldn't be a good host if something happened to you while you came here. It may not be the most comfortable, but you can stay on the couch…"

Things probably would have gone on different directions and Greg wouldn't have had to end up sleeping on the couch if he wanted to go on, but...

Anyway, Greg smiled gratefully.

The next morning when John came down for breakfast, Lestrade was gone.

\- -

After that, not much had happened until the two men felt relaxed side by side again and John thanked it enormously. Thanks to his friendship with Sherlock, seeing the DI at least once a week had already become some sort of obligation.

Maybe they had skipped a week to see each other again after the incident, but John thought it was okay. It could have been a lot worse.

Sherlock never commented on what he had seen that night and that, John also thanked it. Months of reminding everyone that he wasn't gay, and suddenly there he was leaning over another man in his own apartment.

John didn't want to think about how much they would have talked about him if they find out.

\- -

Eventually, things were back to normal, at least between them. John had begun to meet different women. And, to be frank with himself, he didn't want to think that his heterosexuality wasn't as strong as he continued to remind others and that perhaps he had considered it better that he turned out to be bisexual after all. For a long time, John managed to lie to himself enough to believe it. And if Sherlock ever speaks, John and Greg had been drunk, it wasn't entirely their fault, they could claim.

But he had nothing to worry about. Now he was going out with a nice and beautiful woman whom he had also invited to the Christmas party they had decided to give in Baker Street. Sherlock hadn't agreed, of course, but John thought it was a good way to distract himself from the whole Irene Adler thing and her damn cell phone.

They had invited their nearest circle... When it came to Sherlock, the closest circle barely consisted of a couple of people outside Baker Street: Greg Lestrade and Molly Hooper. The woman had accepted without hesitation, but the former had refused the invitation informing them that he would go with his ex-wife and daughter to visit her family outside the city. Although after a few days, Greg had written to John to tell him that the plans had changed again and that he would be with them that night.

It seemed like it was going to be a totally quiet and normal party, or at least that's what John had thought until Molly arrived.

Not only had it been the scene that Sherlock had made in front of her, bringing out in her face some deductions about her interest in himself. For some reason what had bothered John most at the time was that as soon as Molly got rid of her coat, he had seen the look on Greg's face of pure wanton and that made him a little sad and jealous. He would never admit that Greg's rejection had affected his pride a little more than he intended, but to realize in that way that Lestrade had not only rejected him a few months ago but was also clearly interested in Molly now.

John tried not to think too much about the matter every time he had to be in front of Greg, which remained a routine with his pub nights or if Sherlock assisted him in any of his cases. If Greg wanted to tell him something or if he decided to do something in front of Molly, John could do nothing but congratulate him and help him in whatever way he could, and forget how close he had been to ruin the beginning of their friendship.

Although that kiss continued to repeat itself inside his head from time to time, there was nothing John could their about it.

\- -

**IV**

Greg Lestrade couldn't remember the first time he met Molly Hooper, no matter how hard he tried to now. He wouldn't know if they had ever been formally presented by some colleague or if the woman had just started working in the lab and giving him the results of the cases from one day to another.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't tried to force himself to think about it the first time he'd seen her. But the truth was that when Greg was busy on a case, he stopped paying attention to the less important things going on around him. But Greg wouldn't say that meeting Molly wasn't important since the girl's personality had captivated him in some way since he started paying more attention to her.

Molly Hooper seemed to be a very self-confident woman and Greg loved to hear her talk about her work or the results she offered each time he had to appear in the lab.

Within months of Greg noticing the woman's presence, the relationship between them had ceased to be strictly professional. Sometimes Greg could invite her to a coffee break and they were able to talk about more personal matters or their lives. Molly listened attentively when he talked about how proud he was of his daughter and he couldn't help but smile every time she mentioned the incredible sort of mischief things her cat managed to accomplish at home.

Lestrade hadn't realized at what point he had let his interest in the girl growth from just a friendship to something else. Suddenly he wanted to get her attention, but his own insecurity discouraged him and he ended up simply inviting her back for a coffee break instead of a fancy date.

All of their encounters continued to be in the same hospital, as Greg wouldn't dare to invite her out formally. But during one of his laboratory visits for some results, Sherlock Holmes had burst into the room demanding the results of his own experiment he had left the day before. The arrogance in Sherlock's manner of speaking had indicated to Greg that this was not the first time the genius had appeared in that place. It had never crossed Lestrade's mind that Sherlock and Molly could meet, but here they were in front of him talking about some chemicals he had no idea even existed.

He looked at his two friends with a frown because something strange was there. Not from Sherlock, of course. Greg was used to the younger's haughty personality, but it was something about Molly that confused him.

The girl kept smiling every time she finished explaining something to Sherlock. And her cheeks,  _ oh, her cheeks _ , were blushing more than Greg had ever seen.

And that could only mean one thing, right?

He lowered his gaze to his feet and apologized softly before leaving, regardless of whether any of them had heard him. He walked quickly through the hospital corridors to his car.

He let out a sigh when he was settled in his seat.

There was nothing wrong with Molly and Sherlock being together, he tried to remember himself. Though honestly, Greg didn't know Sherlock was interested in women, or people, as a matter of fact. But in this case, he couldn't blame anyone but himself for letting him be deceived in that way into something that would clearly never happen. Or maybe for never risking asking her out.

There was nothing Greg could do here but be happy for his friends and get on with his life.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Who do you prefer Greg with? I personally ship him with everyone because I think he's wholesome and deserves nothing but love.


End file.
